


casting dreams

by princessoftheworlds



Series: it's (not) all an act [9]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Jack meets with Time Lord Productions and the new director of his movie.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: it's (not) all an act [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927099
Comments: 22
Kudos: 53





	casting dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Well, sorry for the lack of Ianto in this, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways! Also, there won't be an installment for the next two weeks because finals! Woo!

The shrill ring of Jack’s smartphone jars him from the pleasant darkness of sleep, specifically his colorful dreams featuring one Ianto Jones.

Groggily, he slips a bare arm free of his nest of blankets and swipes the touch screen to intercept the incoming call, placing it on speakerphone mode.

“lo?” he murmurs.

“Jack!” comes Gwen’s sudden voice, and she sounds urgent enough that he pokes his head from his blankets. “I just got a call from the studio. They want to meet with you in two hours.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Startled by this sudden information, Jack flails and slips off the bed with a loud  _ thud, _ still tangled up in his blankets. He struggles around for a moment, ignoring Gwen’s calls of alarm and concern, before he frees himself and springs to his feet. He sits on the edge of his bed, bringing his phone to his ear.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say that Time Lord Productions wants to meet with me in two hours?”

“Not even just the studio,” Gwen clarifies, tone hasty but tinged with excitement. Jack can practically imagine her doe eyes alight with their interested glow. “The studio head. Rassilon. He demanded to meet with you. They’ll be sending a car over to your apartment in a little over an hour to take you directly to the studio!”

Jack’s heart begins beating a quick samba in his chest. He can feel the adrenaline beginning to thrum through his veins. “Will you be there at the meeting?”

She makes a low noise of disappointment. “I can’t. Rhys and I had pre-made plans with his mother and father, and I can’t just cancel, even if I want to. Besides, the studio really just wants you there.”

There’s a dozen thoughts racing through his mind. What could the studio want? Is this them updating him on the movie? Is it moving forward? Has he got the role? They wouldn’t just schedule a meeting at the studio just to tell him that they cast someone else, would they?

“Any hints, Gwen?” he asks, just the slightest bit of hope in his voice, but her refusal comes quickly.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she tells him breathlessly. “Not a clue.” There’s a distinct yell in the background, something about someone searching for their shoes and that Gwen’s getting late. It must be Rhys; Jack chuckles. “I gotta go, Jack. Good luck. Tell me as soon as you find something out!”

“Remember, you have nothing to fear from Brenda, Gwen Cooper,” Jack says cheerfully and then cuts the call on Gwen’s grumbling. Immediately, he tosses his phone aside and stands up, nearly tripping over his blanket on the floor in his haste to reach his closet. 

He picks out a nice dress shirt and trousers before second-guessing and reaching for jeans he knows fits him well and a blue sweater. Then he abandons his second choice and lands on the shirt and trousers again.

Jack takes the quickest shower of his life, longing to hear Ianto’s snide remarks about him hurrying up, and dries and dresses. He dries and then styles his hair and finds his favorite coat - the one that resembles a RAF greatcoat his grandfather once owned and also one that he  _ definitely didn’t buy  _ because the Captain wears it in the comics.

He assesses himself in the mirror before deciding that he looks the perfect amount of  _ extra _ and classy. Briefly, he imagines Ianto’s reaction to the coat but realizes he’d rather see it actually occur and vows to wear the coat before Ianto as soon as possible.

The town car pulls outside his apartment almost exactly an hour after Gwen called him, giving him just enough time to wolf down a too-dry granola bar and a glass of water to avoid choking.

Sliding his sunglasses on, he strides across the street and slips inside the town car, settling back against the cool leather seats. The driver continues on in silence after they exchange basic greetings.

Quickly, he jots out a text to Gwen, telling her he’s on-route. A moment later, her reply comes through.

_ Good luck! _

* * *

Time Lord Productions is housed in a shiny skyscraper downtown from Jack’s apartment, the studio’s circular logo embossed along the side of the building. The town car pulls up along the back, and Jack’s ushered into an elevator by a personal assistant before being led to a sleek conference table laden with fancy snacks.

Left alone in the room, Jack politely helps himself to a reasonable helping of fresh fruit and mini chocolate-covered biscuits, though he is disappointed to discover that the sparkling water is - in fact - not flavored. He waits by himself for about ten minutes before Rassilon himself walks inside.

Rassilon is a balding man in his late fifties or early sixties who wears a dark-colored suit and a reddish-orange dress shirt covered in swirling designs of gold thread. His Oxfords are polished to perfection, and his grip is firm when he shakes Jack’s hand.

“Thank you for coming to meet me, Mr. Harkness,” Rassilon says as he takes a seat opposite Jack at the table. “Admittedly, it has been several long months trying to move the movie forward, and your agent Ms. Cooper has certainly heard from my assistants far too often, but I finally have news.”

Jack sits at the edge of his seat, hands wrapped so tightly around the sides that his knuckles have likely gone white. First, however, he smiles beatifically at the studio head. “Thank you for inviting me,” he gushes; he can be a kiss-ass when the need strikes. “Yes, Gwen mentioned that you requested to meet with me.”

The other man nods. “I must say,” he begins, “that when the movie was first beginning to be discussed, after the script was brought to my attention, your name was brought up a lot. Many were advocating for you to be cast as the Captain, but I will be the first to admit that I could not see it. You seemed too…”

“Flamboyant?” offers Jack, forcing his polite chuckle. He has brought his fingers together in his lap and is now wringing them tightly together. 

“If you’d like,” Rassilon says, but his straight smile and narrowed eyes imply that that is exactly what he’d been insinuating. “The Captain seemed much more disciplined, and frankly, I saw no way where you would match my ideal version of the character. But.” And here, he taps the table. “But, after you made your relationship with Mr. Jones public, my perception of you changed. Mr. Jones appears to balance you out, to bring the discipline to you that we hoped the Captain would have.”

Jack’s heart skips a beat as Rassilon huffs a laugh. “And now?”

Rassilon smirks. “As far as the investors and I agree, you appear to be the perfect version of the Captain. Which is why we would like to offer you the role.”

“Yes,” Jack blurts out but immediately regrets it as Rassilon’s eyes flash. Quickly, he follows it up with a calmer “Yes, I accept. I would very much love to portray the Captain.”

“Excellent,” says Rassilon, and then, unblinkingly, as if he hasn’t just fulfilled Jack’s lifelong dream as an actor, he moves right on. “The other news I had to share with you today, Mr. Harkness, is that after several months of a long search, the studio has finally found the movie's director. In fact, he was supposed to arrive alongside you to break the news of your casting  _ to _ you.”

Then, almost as if on-cue, a tall, gangly man in a brown pinstripe suit and a matching brown duster and with hair at a volume that reminds Jack of a cockatiel’s feathers bursts through the glass doors of the conference room. “Pardon me, sorry,” he exclaims, mopping sweat from his forehead and panting like he darted all the way here. “Had some problems on my commute.”

Jack’s already grinning with delight before the man lifts his head, lays eyes on Jack, and lights up with excitement.

“Jack, old boy!” he says, skinny frame vibrating as he begins to talk. “It’s been a while! How are you?”

“Perhaps niceties can be exchanged afterwards,” parlays Rassilon smoothly, shooting the man an irritated glance. “As I was saying to you, Mr. Harkness, this is John Smith, the new director of the movie.” 

“Oh, Doctor,” Jack says eagerly, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be excellent.”

At the same time that Jack was attempting to break into musical theater about a decade ago, he met a brilliant film student named John Smith, who insisted on going by the name “The Doctor,” at a Hollywood party. A year later, the Doctor casted Jack opposite an aspiring singer named Rose in his graduate film project. In the course of the several months it took to film the project, Jack fell a little bit in love with both of them but had his heart broken when the Doctor and Rose ultimately chose each other over their semi-more-than-platonic circle. The film went on to be successful enough to lead the Doctor to making a name for himself as an indie director, Rose caught the attention of a recording label, and Jack finally nabbed a successful audition for a role adjacent to Broadway; all three ultimately went their individual ways without hard feelings, though Rose and the Doctor eventually found their way back to each other.

It only hurts Jack a little to think about it, a little less than how it hurts him to think about John or to think about Gray and his father.

Jack’s always been a little unlucky in love, and he thinks it’s high-time that his streak breaks.

“I think,” the Doctor is continuing when Jack drags his attention back to the present, “that we are well on our way towards starting production.”

“I agree,” Rassilon says. “Perhaps some more final script edits will be necessary, but we will be able proceed with casting soon enough.” He smiles politely. “After all, our movie found its Captain.”

* * *

“Jack,” the Doctor says, bouncing excitedly on his feet after he and Jack exit the conference room and Rassilon has disappeared into the opposite direction. He and Jack have already exchanged enthusiastic hugs. “How are you, Jackie boy?”

“All the better for seeing you again, Doctor,” replies Jack, beaming. His lips hurt from smiling so widely and so often, but he feels as if his heart is happily going to bounce out of his chest. “Especially now that you’ll be the one directing me!”

The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, wrecking it up further. “The studio has been attempting to poach me for this movie for  _ months, _ ” he admits, “but I don’t like big movie studios. Rose convinced me to give it a try, but I was still on the fence until I heard that you were being considered for the role.”

Jack is filled with a warm, bubbling giddiness. “And how is Rose?”

“Quite well,” the Doctor tells him. “She mentioned that she met you and Mr. Jones backstage of Bill Potts’s show. She’s still insisting that the both of you come for dinner.” He leans in closer, eyes glinting with his usual wild energy. “Personally, I’m quite excited to meet this extraordinary Mr. Jones who managed to woo our Jack.”

Head thrown back, Jack laughs, his heart fluttering at the thought of Ianto Jones and his gorgeous blue eyes and that polite yet wry smile. “He is quite extraordinary,” confesses Jack. “Sarcastic and witty and can run circles around me. He may even be able to keep up with you.”

But then again, knowing how chaotic the Doctor can be, Ianto may not even stand a chance against him. 

The Doctor’s expression becomes knowing, and Jack briefly wonders, not for the first time, if the Doctor can read his mind. Or, if he’s really that transparent. “Bring him over for dinner,” he instructs. “In a few nights if you’re free. Rose’s orders.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction. 
> 
> And if you have any future ideas for this verse or something you'd like to see, drop it in the comments!
> 
> No, I quite mean it. I'm trying to plot the rest of this verse ahahahahha. Like literally, anything goes.


End file.
